


Attractive

by meelie98



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, There's a bit of angst because I think Bokuto is an inherently tragic character whoops, akaashi is in pain, kuroo and bokuto are best bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-24 01:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meelie98/pseuds/meelie98
Summary: Akaashi has a terrible realisation: Bokuto Koutarou is, arguably, attractive.





	Attractive

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I made it my goal for the Summer holidays to finish this fic. The Summer ended 37 minutes ago and I just finished this. I have no beta. This bloomed from 4000 words to 8000. I'm very sick at the moment. Please be forgiving.

It was during a quiet, unassuming late afternoon training session that Akaashi discovered a terrible thing.  
    He discovered it after a particularly fierce three-on-three match against Konoha, Washio and Bokuto. Just as they had reached match point, the ball plummeted toward Akaashi’s side of the court at such a terrifying speed it took everything in him not to flinch and duck away. But he stood his ground, and Komi skidded in under the flying sphere, batting it upwards. Konoha was already midway through a smirking victory taunt, Bokuto already _whooping_ ardently, when Sarukui hit the ball over the net with a soft pat. Washio’s sigh echoed across the court.  
   A grin smug enough to rival Konoha’s spread across Akaashi’s features.  
   “You’re a sick bastard, you know that?” Konoha said. Immediately Akaashi ‘s face went back to its default bored expression.  
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Akaashi shrugged. Then he scanned the court to find Bokuto, which was something of a habit for him. He fully expected the find the older boy brooding in a corner, obnoxious pout already formed, unmoving until someone told him his play was unspeakably excellent despite it being a simple training skirmish.  
      Instead, Bokuto was draping a towel around his neck and laughing his ridiculous, guffawing laugh, punching Washio’s upper arm ecstatically.  
    “That was _awesome_! Seriously, incredible, Komi! We’re gonna annihilate everyone else at Interhigh!” This bold declaration was punctuated with a long swig from a bright, owl stamped water bottle; the gulp was so large much of the water missed Bokuto’s mouth. Droplets trickled down his sharp jaw and long, long neck. Something lodged itself in Akaashi’s throat.  
    The terrible discovery: Bokuto Koutarou was, arguably, attractive.  
    Akaashi pictured himself walking around, firm in his belief Bokuto lay on the wrong side of average looking, at peace and capable of dealing with his friend in a detached, methodical manner. Then he pictured Bokuto throwing his head back as he just did, and laughing with such pure, unadulterated joy that his golden eyes crinkled in half and his _Ha’_ s vibrated through the gym. It was clear now that the laughter was aimed at Akaashi.  
    This couldn’t be happening. Akaashi furrowed his brow. This was ridiculous. _Bokuto_ was ridiculous. Bokuto had bleached white eyebrows and a crooked, volleyball-knocked nose and five tubs of gel in his hair. He had that nigh permanent childish grimace pressed to his face, had those bulging, insectoid eyes and plump, pink lips and chubby, just barely freckle spattered cheeks and…and…  
    Dimples. How had Akaashi never noticed them before?  
   “Akaashi?” Suddenly Komi was beside him, peering upward at his kouhai concernedly. “You alright? Looking kinda zoned out there,”  
    “I’m a little tired, is all,”  
    “Understandable.” Komi snorted.  
    Akaashi nodded and hummed noncommittally. There was no real answer within the tones of his hum, but Komi seemed satisfied. He started towards the locker rooms, lighting up maliciously and taking a sharp turn towards the equipment closet when he heard Konoha’s voice through the thin wooden door. No doubt he looked forward to gloating about their mini team’s victory.  
    Bokuto, who had left the gym during Akaashi and Komi’s brief chat, burst back through the doors.  
  “Hey, uh…” He panted. “Like, in a pretend situation, if I lost my blazer and my keys and my wallet which happened to be in my blazer and have all my money inside, where do you think I’d have left it, Akaashi?” A pathetic smile bloomed on his face. Dimples formed in his cheeks like craters.  
   From an impartial perspective, Bokuto was a tall, athletically inclined young man with a big grin and lots of unshielded enthusiasm. Perhaps he had some visual quirks, but he was by no means entirely unattractive. Finding him desirable in a purely physical manner wasn’t shameful in the least.  
   It was undeniably bizarre though. Akaashi couldn’t ignore the absurdity of the situation; Bokuto was a good friend and pleasant to be around, but he still needed assistance tying his shoelaces on occasion. Akaashi walked to the Locker Room in a state of mental unrest, blanking his Captain’s desperate attempts to assimilate a search party for his wallet.

* * *

 

Bokuto slurped up his noodles gracelessly and Akaashi regretted not sitting beside Onaga when the younger boy offered.  The team had chosen a tiny ramen shop for their post-match meal, which meant the food was delicious and the atmosphere friendly, but it also meant Bokuto’s obnoxious voice echoed noisily throughout the building for every other restaurant goer to hear. A tired businessman stared at Bokuto from across the table, expression resembling that of an elderly woman who had accidentally stumbled upon a demolition derby.  
   “The part where Konoha did the curve toss after Komi did that dive for it, and then I just belted it – did you see me belt it, Agaaaaashi?”  
   “I did.”  
   “Yeah, well, Dateko didn’t know what hit ‘em,”  
   “A ball, presumably. They blocked that spike, Bokuto-san,” The rest of the team sniggered and Bokuto frowned.  
   “We won anyway, so, it’s not like it mattered.”  
   “No,” shrugged Akaashi. “I suppose not.”  
   “Did you guys see Megumi-san in the crowd?” Konoha interrupted. Loudly. He borderline dove over the table in a seemingly paranoid gesture. “She was there, right? Tell Saru she was there!”  
   “Uhm…was she the girl near the front with blonde hair?” Bokuto grinned. Unamused, Konoha narrowed his eyes.  
    “She has black hair.”  
    “She was there, Saru,” Akaashi sighed. “Near the back, but she was there.” Konoha slung himself back onto his chair victoriously, smirking his trademark smirk. Though his teammates bickered and the halogen lighting flickered ominously, Akaashi thought the meal was proving to be very enjoyable. Joyous pride was palpable amongst the boys, and even Washio cracked a smile or two. Distractedly, Akaashi traced the black wood of the table, playing with his katsu.  
     “Hey, ‘Kaashi…’Kaashi…Akaaaaaaashi,” Bokuto jabbed Akaashi in the side. His cheeks were puffed up around a mouthful of ramen and he chewed sloppily. “Alright, you know how Date Tech have like th-“  
    “Bokuto-san,” Akaashi exhaled through his nose. A beansprout had somehow found its way onto Bokuto’s cheek. “You have…” Vaguely, he gestured at the Captain’s face.  
    “What? Huh?”  
    “You have food around your…”  
     “Oh,” Bokuto started rubbing at his face non-discriminately, somehow managing to miss the beansprout every time. “Did I get it?” Rolling his eyes, Akaashi snatched a napkin from the table and leaned toward Bokuto.  
    “Just come here,” He grabbed Bokuto by the jaw and dabbed at his cheek. He might have lingered a millisecond too long. It was a very nice jaw. Before, Akaashi had only really considered Bokuto’s jaw in passing. After his realisation in the gym a few days ago that, yes, Bokuto was a red blooded young male and not an odd bug eyed alien, his jaw was much harder to bypass. You could probably measure it with a protractor. The way Bokuto leaned his head back, nose scrunched up, really exposed his throat. Exposed lots and lots of thin, tanned, fragile skin.  
    Okay, time to let go, Akaashi.  
    When Akaashi pulled away and scrunched up the napkin, his eyes met Suzumeda’s. She observed him from her seat across the table, looking perhaps a little shocked. Then she very conspicuously averted her eyes, folding her lips in scandalised amusement. An innocently teasing gesture, but Akaashi flushed with embarrassment nonetheless. Nobody else seemed to have noticed. His mouth bobbed open wordlessly, and then he shut it again. He hoped Suzumeda understood from his firm stare that whatever she thought was going on was not, even though it maybe was, but it wasn’t. At all.  
     How childish this entire situation was. Weren’t irrational crushes based on little more than aesthetics meant to occur in Junior High?  Akaashi poked at his noodles, cursing his adolescent body and his romantically disinterested 12 year old self.  
    “Jeez, Akaashi, you’re treating me like I’m 10 and you’re my Obasan at New Year’s,” Bokuto whined, still rubbing his cheeks.  
    “Don’t _behave_ like you’re 10 then,” Akaashi retorted.  
     For the rest of the night he avoided Suzumeda.

* * *

 

Kuroo and Bokuto nattered away and Akaashi watched them disinterestedly. Hilarious as their antics were, they grew tedious after a day or two. Training camp overall became dull after the initial excitement of seeing the other teams. Of course, Akaashi enjoyed volleyball matches and drills a lot; he didn’t partake in the sport for no reason. It was the hours between practices and matches dragged on. Normally he would sit and read quietly beside Kenma - he had done as much at last year’s Spring boot camp. This Year Kenma was busy mooning over that Karasuno First Year and ignoring Lev. Akaashi was a little relieved. When Kenma and him attempted conversation it was mostly passive aggressive sniping and barely contained annoyance, but their silences were comfortable. You could only listen to Kuroo and Bokuto discussing how hot the Managers were and how many rice balls they could shove into their mouth at once for so long. Akaashi had begun counting all the bottles of Pocari Sweat he had idly drained over the past four days. He was at thirteen, and aimed for twenty five by the end of the week.  
    “Alright, Akaashi,” Kuroo sniffed, leaning forward. Akaashi braced himself. “Would you rather have the hiccoughs for the rest of your life, or wo-“  
    “You gotta explain it right, Kuroo,” said Bokuto.  
    “You didn’t let me finish, I was about to explain it,”  
    “I knew you hadn’t finished, I was just saying before you started to explain it properly,”  
    “Okay, well…I will.”  
   “Wait were you listening to our conversation before this, Akaashi? It might not make sense if you weren’t,” Bokuto said with the severity of someone discussing UN policies, not ‘Would You Rather’.  
   “Did it look like he was listening, Bokuto?”  
   “Don’t be pissy, Kuroo.”  
   “I wasn’t!”  
   “Hey, hey, wait Akaashi did you see during drills when I did that awesome straight? Kuroo doesn’t believe I did it, but I did. You saw it right? Wasn’t I awesome?”  
     For a second, Akaashi skeptically recalled the anxious glances the Shinzen and Karasuno First Years had pointed at the two boys when entering the enormous gym on Day One. He couldn’t blame them. Really, they were both physically imposing people – as Nationally ranking athletes, them looking capable of beating you to a pulp was only natural. Add to that Kuroo’s dark lidded gaze, all knowing smirk, and the odd, jointless way Bokuto cocked his head to the side, and it was no wonder the First Years had seemed unnerved.  
    Currently the hyper intimidating duo were trying to chug entire cartons of milk faster than one another, and Akaashi was wondering how they would function in University.  
   All of a sudden Bokuto twitched as though struck by some invisible shot of lightning. He spluttered on his milk, slammed it down with a _glug_ and whipped around to face Akaashi.  
   “Did you hear?” He asked.  
   “Hear what?” Akaashi frowned. Kuroo shifted uncomfortably.  
   “Kuroo. Got. _SCOUTED_.” To emphasise his point, Bokuto furiously smacked the table over and over, until other students turned to stare. Akaashi halted Bokuto’s flailing with a brief touch to his arm.  
   “That’s great, Kuroo.”  
   “I don’t know,” Kuroo shrugged, slurping his milk contemplatively. His entire being seemed to shift. “It’s not that good a school. It’s 16 th on the Intercollegiate Volleyball rankings, and their Biochemical Engineering course apparently doesn’t rate.”  
   Akaashi blinked. What an odd person. Competitively chugging cartons of 1% moments before discussing the merits of Biochemistry programmes.  
   “Well, Kuroo, I believe you shoul-“  
   “Can you believe this?” Bokuto squawked. “’Kaashi, he keeps saying he’s going to decline…they’re offering a full paid scholarship a-and dorm bursary shit and everything! And he’s not going to say yes! I’d kill for a Scout to notice me so early in the Year!”  
    “I didn’t say I definitely wasn’t going to accept, Bo,” From Kuroo's resigned tone, this seemed like well-trodden territory for the pair, and now Bokuto was dragging Akaashi into it. A trump card, of sorts. “I think I should wait until further into the season, after a couple of high profile matches. You know, there might be Agents from better schools. One’s…closer to Tokyo.”  
    “That’s dumb. That’s ridiculous, Akaaaaaashi, tell him that’s ridiculous.  He told me he wasn’t going to accept it before this conversation.”  
    “Bokuto-san, it’s not ‘dumb’ that Kuroo wants to stay close to home. Adapting to University living is hard enough. And certainly there’s no point if the teaching isn’t up to scratch,” Kuroo nodded in unequivocal agreement. Clearly he thought Akaashi siding with him would end this. Perhaps it would. “What University, Kuroo?”  
    “Just uh…an offshoot of Osaka.” The dark haired boy shrugged. Something about that seemed off to Akaashi. He mouthed the top of his Pocari Sweat for a short time and mulled it over.  
    “My cousin attends Osaka, Kuroo. It has one of the best Biochem. programmes in the country.” Kuroo’s face plummeted.  
    “Exactly! That’s what I’ve been saying!” Bokuto yelled, triumphantly. “He’s just staying because of Kenm- because, b-because he’s scared of the, uh….”  
    “Real smooth, Bokuto,” sighed Kuroo, massaging his temple. Akaashi pursed his lips.  
    “Your future should not be decided based on High School romance.”  
    “What if I’m deciding it based on a lifelong companionship?” Kuroo offered, crooning the words _lifelong companionship_ breathily, like a pseudo romantic declaration.  
     “Then you’re future shouldn’t be decided based on ‘lifelong companionship’,” Akaashi deadpanned, raising a brow. “If it’s truly lifelong it will survive a little distance, Kuroo,”  
    “Yep, Akaashi is right, Kuroo. Listen to Akaashi. He’s always right.”  
    “You just want to make sure I carry on Volleyball at University, Bo. Which I will. I’ve said  so already.”  
    “I knoooooooow,” Bokuto whinged, resting his chin in his hand. “I don’t want you changing your mind. And I want you to go to a good place for your Biological Physiology, too,”  
    “Biochemical engineering.”  
    “Yeah, yeah, Bitch Chemistry,”  
    “Dude.”  
    “Dude.”  
    “Dude.”  
   “ _And_ Akaashi is right. This is important crap, you can’t decide it based on Ken...” Bokuto eyeballed Akaashi suspiciously. “…Stupid high school stuff. I’ve read two whole pamphlets on higher education and they both said this is a _you_ choice. Are you gonna ignore the pamphlets? Are you gonna ignore me? Hardly anyone else in the prefecture is trying to go pro, man. Are you gonna leave me all by myself?”  
     “Of course not. C’mon, bros before hoes.”  
    “Exactly!”  
    “Don’t tell you know who I called him a hoe, though,” Kuroo murmured.  
    “Do I look like I crave death, man?” laughed Bokuto, elbowing Kuroo in the side playfully. Akaashi decided to interrupt the flirting.  
   “Kuroo, I highly suggest you disregard interpersonal relationships and consider yourself while making this decision. Osaka is a lovely place. Flights are cheap,”  
   “What if my ‘ _interpersonal relationships’_ are a big part of myself? You know, when I’m thinking about my future, Kenma is in it.”  
    “ _Woah_ ,” gasped Bokuto. “What? You were talking about _Kenma_ the whole time? Who would have guessed, not m-“  
    “Don’t quit your day job, Bokuto-san, you are not a gifted actor.” Akaashi sighed. “Whatever you and Kenma have going on can be revisited, Kuroo.”  
   “Not necessarily.”  
   “Yes necessarily. Unless one of you dies.”  
    “He will. He’ll die of loneliness without me here,”  
    “Yes,” Akaashi said, glancing over at Kenma, who was arched over a small handheld console across the hall, utterly engrossed. Lev was tapping him on the shoulder and Hinata was slapping him on the back, crying _‘Throw the master ball, throw the master ball, Kozume!’._ “Truly, Kenma is nothing without you. He’s rotting away, isolated like a leper.”  
    “Okay, alright, look that is a bad example he is – normally alone, and there is…. _dude_ …c’mon, unfair…” Kuroo slumped down in his chair, looking between Akaashi and Bokuto, seemingly in deep thought.  
     In the blink of an eye, Kuroo morphed from reflective STEM major to smirking provocateur. The rapidity of the change was actually rather frightening.  
    “Maybe _you_ should consider your _interpersonal relationships,_ Akaashi. What are _you_ going to do after graduation?”  
    “What exactly do you mean?” Akaashi asked, squinting at Kuroo.  
     Both their eyes fell to Akaashi’s hand. It remained on Bokuto’s bicep from earlier when he had stilled the older boy’s flailing. Something loudly awkward and unmoving floated around the table. Slowly Akaashi peeled his fingers away, purposefully avoiding Kuroo’s smug gaze. Truly the boy could aggravate a saint.  
    Akaashi was reminded of Suzumeda in the ramen restaurant, and wondered if his carnally adolescent feelings for Bokuto were obvious to everyone. Akaashi thought of the many girls that confessed to him without an inclination of his personality, only concerned with his good looks. He wondered if he seemed as foolish as them – sillier even, because Akaashi _was_ familiar with Bokuto’s fundamentally flawed personality. Kuroo carried on smirking maddeningly, and Akaashi stared back at him. If he grinded his teeth together any harder, not a lot of them would remain.  
    “Wait, what's happening?” Bokuto inquired, mouth full of potato chips. It seemed he hadn’t noticed Akaashi’s lingering touch, or the obdurate tension between his two friends.  
     Akaashi thought of Bokuto moving to Osaka.  
    “Kuroo has a point, Bokuto-san. It’s his choice. It seems as though he’s thought about this a lot an-“  
    “What? _Nooooooooooooooo_! _Agaaaaashi!_ You’re supposed to take my side. _”_  
    “Listen, Bo, I’m waiting to see if anyone better volleyball wise gives me an offer. Hopefully somewhere closer to Tokyo. That makes sense, right? Later, if I really think Osaka is the best choice for me…I guess I’ll accept.”  
     “I wish a scout had noticed me already,” Bokuto pouted. “S’not fair.”  
    “Man, I said already, the big teams wait ‘til the big matches to make their offers. You’re going to be overloaded with choice,”  
     Bokuto pouted even more.  
    “I won’t able to decide and I’ll end up living in a box on the street and you’ll be a gold medalist slash rocket scientist slash brain surgeon and I’ll have to busk for money.”  
    “I will help you decide which high profile sporting scholarship to choose from, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi exhaled, stealing a potato chip from Bokuto’s bag. “Truly you live a difficult life.”  
    Then Bokuto slapped Akaashi on the back and smiled really big and said something like _‘You’re right, I do, Akaashi, of course you'd help, Akaashi, you’re really the best, Akaashi,”_ and Akaashi had the hard task of averting his gaze from both Bokuto’s dimples and Kuroo’s leering grin.

* * *

 

Akaashi would like to have said he was a patient person - but sitting in the library beside Bokuto was making him consider homicide.  
   _Pop. Pop. Pop._ Over and over he smacked his lips together, tapped his pencil against the edge of the table, hummed dreamily. His chair creaked achingly each time he rocked back on it. Other students granted him a few irked glances, but mostly Bokuto’s twitching served only to irritate Akaashi. On any other occasion Akaashi would grit his teeth and bare it, but he was in no mood for Bokuto’s immaturity today. End of Year exams were fast approaching, and he would gladly forsake Bokuto’s company for a quality study session. A frustrated, shaky sigh left him.  
   “What’s up, ‘Kaashi?”  
   “Nothing.” grunted Akaashi. Thankfully Bokuto swung all four legs of his chair on the floor and ceased his lip smacking, but now he was frowning at his kouhai worriedly.  
   “Agaashi, you’re very stressed,” Bokuto nodded. His face had shifted from worry to that of a knowing elder. Akaashi suppressed an eye roll.  
   “How perceptive of you, Bokuto-san,”  
   “A Captain knows these things,” He hummed sagely. “What’s up, then?” Akaashi blinked, disbelieving.  
   “End of year exams are in a fortnight.” He gritted out.  
   “And you’re…worried?”  
   “You could say that.”  
   “Why?” Bokuto asked, bottom lip jutting out. “You’re like Class 7, aren’t you? You could do zero study and you’d still scrape by,” Akaashi applied so much pressure to his pencil the nib snapped off.  
    “I don’t want to scrape by, Bokuto-san. My Mother doesn’t deserve me _scraping by,_ ”  
    “Hey, hey,” Bokuto chuckled nervously, raising his palms in surrender. “I didn’t mention your Mom.”  
    “Why are you here? You’re not doing any studying. You have no homework.” If Akaashi was a little abrasive, it was only because Bokuto was a little obtuse.  
    “I wanted to…” Bokuto wriggled in his seat. “You’ve been so easily annoyed in practice lately, and all you’ve been doing after school is going to the library I guess, I just-“  
    “Easily annoyed?”  
    “Yeah, easily annoyed, and I just thought it had to do with how much you’re studying.”  
    “I do not think I’m an easily annoyed person, Bokuto-san.”  
    “I mean you can be.”  
    There was a tense pause.  
    “I’m studying because End of Year exams are approaching, Bokuto-san. Currently my priorities are not focused on Volleyball. I need to revise, and I _apologise_ if that isn’t entertaining to you but I have to do it.” Once again, Bokuto waved his hands defensively.  
    “I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t say to say you’re sorry, I meant that you’re. I’m just…I don’t get it. I mean, I’m a Third Year, Akaashi, and I’m not getting all stressed about exams like you,” Bokuto appeared genuinely confused.  
   “Perhaps that why you’re almost inevitably going to fail all of your’s, Bokuto-san. You are aware not everyone’s lives revolve around volleyball?” Akaashi hissed without peering up from his page. Malice was audible in his words. He didn’t stop scribbling down sums for several minutes, the quiet of the library growing thicker by the second. He felt exhausted.  
    Even someone unaffected by the heightened slumps Bokuto went through would have walked away at that. Regardless of any truth behind the statement, it was a very cruel and unfair thing to say. He was taking his frustrations out on Bokuto. Akaashi could not bring himself to look Bokuto in the eyes. Instead he went through equation after equation and thought: _Why did you say that. Why did you say that.  
_     It was worse that Bokuto didn’t immediately get up and storm off in anger. That Akaashi could deal with, shrug off with an exasperated huff, an admission the older boy was in one of his mood’s again. Then he could begin listing ways to solve this problem. No, Bokuto remained stubbornly beside him, an unavoidable presence hovering to Akaashi’s left. Evading eye contact became increasingly difficult when Bokuto’s stare lingered on Akaashi, unwavering, for a good minute or two. _  
_    An arm wrapped around him.  
  It was a nice, muscled arm. Bokuto’s was a nice, muscled person. He pulled Akaashi closer to his firm, uniform clad chest and held him there. It was a friendly side hug, the kind Bokuto gave everyone on the team except Akaashi because Akaashi had made it very clear that wasn’t his kind of thing. It wasn’t terrible though. It was also not what Akaashi had expected. Oh, this _was_ terrible. Oh no. Because it was reminding Akaashi that, from an impartial perspective, Bokuto was a tall, muscular young man that was very warm and muscular and gave good hugs. Did Akaashi mention Bokuto was muscular? Seriously. Possibly sculpted by the Gods. And Akaashi had been needlessly nasty to him. He regretted what he had said even more. Everyone’s life should revolve around volleyball if it granted them arms like this.  
     Akaashi hid this internal outburst quite well. He jolted and made a noise that could be deciphered as discomfort. Bokuto released Akaashi from his grips and leaned back in his chair.  
   “Alright, alright, I get it. You don’t like the touchy feely stuff. But…I’m not like academic or anything, but I get that you’re stressed. I’m not…I get I’m being annoying but I’m worried about you, ‘Kaashi. You’re overworking yourself. You could carry 50 pound weights with the bags under your eyes, and you’re even bitchier than usual. You need to take a deep breath.  You’re so smart, man. Smart to the point Second Year High School exams are nothing to you. And even if I wasn’t sure you’d ace these tests, you being alright is way more important than a good grade. Your Mom knows that as well. Just calm it, alright?”  
    Honestly, the majority of Bokuto’s words slipped right through Akaashi, who was in something of a daze, but he did feel a lot better. Bokuto’s gaze was very soft and sincerely concerned and resembled that of an actual wise, advice giving Senpai. Akaashi took a hurried look out of the window, but no pigs were flying.  
   “Thank you, Bokuto-san." He said. “I am very sorry for snapping at you, what I said was entir-“ Bokuto cut him off with a dismissive wave of the hand.  
    “I know you didn’t really mean it. It’s difficult knowing your best friend is a future Olympian. The build-up of resentment is entirely understandable. You, um, want to go grab some food after you’re finished?”  
   “Yes. That sounds nice.”  Akaashi nodded, and if he pressed against Bokuto’s shoulder a little bit, it was for extra support while writing.

* * *

(Akaashi pondered Bokuto’s lack of social sensibilities and loud voice and lip smacking and temper tantrums and lackadaisical  attitude toward grades and a deeper, more adolescent part of himself said _he gives good hugs and he's kind and he got worried about you, Keiji. He was wooooorried._ )

* * *

 

  The Fukurodani Team trod to the Locker Room, happily tired from a long after school practice.  
  “I think I’ve pulled a muscle,” Bokuto sobbed, bottom lip poking out.  
  “I keep telling you that you need to ice your shoulder more frequently,” Akaashi sighed.  
 Bokuto replied with a frantic shake of his head.  
   “It’s my thigh,”  
   “You gotta watch yourself, Bokuto,” Saru frowned.  
   “We have the practice match against Johenzji tomorrow,” Komi grimaced. Bokuto wilted, shoulders slumped over. Now Akaashi noticed his walking was a tad stiff.  
   “I don’t really strain muscles anymore,” Konoha smirked, shrugging easily. Everybody’s gaze shifted to him, but Bokuto continued shuffling forward, head down. Nobody else had detected Bokuto’s declining mood, but Akaashi deemed it more productive to ignore it in the hope’s he picked himself back up. Akaashi tuned back into the other Third Year’s conversation.  
   “And why is that?” Sarukui asked Konoha. The team gritted their teeth in preparation, filing through the Changing Room door resignedly.  
   “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been more and more flexible lately. You know, since _I got with Megumi_.” The lockers vibrated with groans. If looks could kill, Sarukui and Komi would be convicted of first degree murder.  
   “Really, man? Really?”  
   “What, Saru?”  
   “We get it. You have a girlfriend,”  
   “Oh, is someone jealous? You’ll find a girl someday, Saru, don’t worry,“  
   “Nobody actually cares, Konoha,”  
   “Damn. For someone who doesn’t care, you’re sure getting worked up about this.”  
   “Oh my God, you’re such a bullshitter,”  
   “Oh, am I?”  
   “As if you’ve gotten laid yet,” Saru snorted.  
   “And you know how?”  
   “Because the day you have sex with Megumi-san, we’ll all be the first ones to hear the gory details, regardless of whether we have expressed an interest in your erotic exploits or not,” Huffed Akaashi. He was tired after a lengthy practice and not in the mood for this idle bickering. Konoha’s smirk vanished.  
  “You know, I’d like to think I could hold it longer than a day. I might tell you a week later, but -”  
  “Akaaaaashi, can you check out my leg?” Bokuto whined from behind the steel door of an open locker. He had been staring at his knee pads intently for several minutes now, apparently impermeable to his fellow Third Year’s banter. There was something slightly forlorn about him, but an actual descent into his (rather tastelessly named) ‘emo mode’ seemed unlikely. In truth, Bokuto loved injuries. They brought about real, uncondescending attention descended from sympathy.  He was probably having the time of his life.  
   Konoha’s smirk reappeared.  
   “I’m sure Akaashi will check out _both_ your legs, happily, Bokuto,”  
   “Well, uh, nah, it’s really just the left one…” His nose scrunched up. “But now that I think about it, they’re both kind of hurting. Am I imagining it? I don’t think so, there’s definitely a twinge in my right. Holy shit, I’m gonna need crutches!”  
   “You’re not going to need crutches, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi glared pointedly at Konoha. He wandered over to Bokuto, lips pursed - out of concern, Akaashi let his gaze linger on Bokuto’s thigh, in particular the tiny sliver of flesh that separated Bokuto’s knee pads and shorts. It looked very, very fine to him. “Your leg _is_ a little swollen. Perhaps the pull is edging into second degree, but you’ll be alright. Put some ice on it once you get home.”  
   “Okay, good. ‘Cuz you know, back in First Year, I borderline tore the muscle and couldn’t properly play for a month.  It was horrible,”  
   “I know,” And Akaashi did know, because Bokuto had told the story of him backflipping over the net and the horrible, sinuous ripping noise his _rectus femoris_ made at least a dozen times. It seemed to grow more and more exaggerated with each of Bokuto’s retellings – when Sarukui recounted the anecdote it became 14 year old Bokuto jumping at the wrong angle during receiving drills, falling to the ground and starting to cry hysterically.  
   “These are super expensive,” Bokuto gestured towards his knee pads.  
   “I know,” And Akaashi did know, because Bokuto griped about the cost every time he miraculously managed to rip a pair.  
   “It’s cuz’ they have built in thigh support. I got ‘em because of the injury back in First Year,”  
   “I know,” And Akaashi did know, because those protective garments haunted his dreams.  
    Safe in the knowledge Bokuto would be fine after a brief icing, Akaashi turned back to his locker to begin changing. Komi was describing the struggle of finding a date to his sister’s wedding to a sympathetic Sarukui, and Akaashi listened to their conversation passively. Out of the corner of his eye, Akaashi saw Bokuto hooking his index finger around the knee pad of his swollen thigh. Slowly, he peeled the hem down. A low groan rumbled in the back of his throat when he stretched out, muscles pulled taught against his tanned skin. He bit his lip, probably out of discomfort, though his expression could be mistaken for a multitude of things  
    The man was a menace to society.  
   “I.” Akaashi coughed, shuffling through his school bag pointlessly. “I think I left my study planner on the English corridor. I’ll head up there now. Don’t lock up, Bokuto-san,”  
   “I can just wait for yo-“  
   “Do not wait for me,” Akaashi exited the changing room. Internally, Akaashi decided the pace at which he escaped – sorry, _left at_ \- was more of a brisk walk than a light jog, so he really had nothing to be embarrassed about.

* * *

 

Walking home wearing gym kit in February was cold, and it felt colder with Bokuto giving him the silent treatment.  
    Bokuto did not give people the silent treatment. He gave them the angry, teary eyed, conspicuous glances from the corner of the room treatment. Bokuto wailed and clawed for praise and pouted. If he was quiet, it was so somebody asked him what was wrong. Yet throughout training session, Bokuto had been entirely disengaged with the team, regardless of Saru and Komi’s prying. Regardless of Akaashi complimenting his crosses, Onaga stiltedly patting Bokuto on the pack, or Konoha telling him he’d done a great job during their twofer drills (a blatant lie – Bokuto had received the ball with his face four times). For a while, everyone left the Captain at Akaashi’s instruction, and at no point had he rushed to his to his teammates to angrily explain what’s wrong and accuse nobody of caring about him. Coach Takemi had grimaced at Akaashi expectantly at least four times throughout the training session, and Akaashi resolutely looked away. Despite Akaashi’s apparent status as The Bokuto Expert, he didn’t know how to fix the boy’s current mood. Maybe instead, they could talk about it. Eventually, Akaashi piped up.  
    “What’s the matter, Bokuto-san? Clearly something has disturbed you. You were not yourself all practice.” Something else wavered across the Third Year’s face. If there was one good thing about Bokuto, it was how easily you could read him; and yet currently, he was a blank canvas. They walked in silence for a brief moment.  
   “I’m good.”  
   Akaashi forced himself not to sigh.  
   “We’re alone, you realise. I’m your friend, Bokuto-san, you can tell me if something’s wrong.”  
   “I know you guys laugh at me.” Bokuto said very plainly. His gaze was hard and dull, like someone had turned the dimmer switch on his bright amber eyes. Sometimes Akaashi had this horrible suspicion Bokuto’s eyes were beautiful. Even prior to his infatuation he had always secretly thought so. People called Bokuto’s eyes creepy or bulging but in that moment Akaashi thought that they were nice to the point of clichéd similes. Like two glistening, metallic coins. Like pools of liquid gold.  
   “What do you mean?”  
  “I mean you think when I have my mood stuff it’s hilarious or something. Come up with cute nicknames for it. I don’t do it because I like being a mess, you know. I try to...I don’t...”  
   “What you’re saying isn’t true, Bokuto-san, the team might s-“  
   “I don’t need you to make excuses or anything. I don’t care, it’s just you all seem to think I’m dumb enough I don’t realise what I’m like to be around.” His voice cracked a bit at the end, and he peered at Akaashi in anticipation. Streetlights seemed to melt his yellow irises to transparency.  
    If Bokuto wanted an answer, he didn’t get one. They padded along wordlessly.  
    (At practice the next day, Bokuto was normal and Akaashi avoided his gaze.)

* * *

 

**NEKOMA VS FUKURODANI  
10 (2 – 3) 15**

Though it was merely a friendly prior to the actual qualifying match they would inevitably face against Nekoma, Akaashi was pleased. The Cats had progressed immensely, but not enough to beat Fukurodani. There were few things Akaashi enjoyed more than watching an opponent’s face drop through the holes of the net at the end of a match point, especially when the opponent was Kozume Kenma. Akaashi’s poker face had something of a reputation at this point, so he had to fight off a smug smile when him and Kuroo made eye contact from across the gym. Kenma and the delinquent  looking boy were bickering incessantly, and the dark haired Captain looked at his wits’ end.  
    Akaashi swivelled around and took a sip from his water bottle, sighing at the coldness. He peered back at his team, still gathered on the court and decided, yes. Today was a good day. Bokuto – who had not faced any difficulties minus a brief stint where he forgot whether he was left or right handed – was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and had lifted the hem of his shirt to dry his damp face. If Akaashi hadn’t just won against Nekoma, he probably would have come up with some excuse for his wandering eyes and quickly busied himself discussing tactics with Suzumeda. Instead he enjoyed the view of Bokuto’s well-defined abdominal muscles, and wet his lips, because they had grown very dry all of a sudden.  
    “You know, Akaashi, a photo would last longer!” Laughed a voice behind Akaashi's right shoulder, and the Second Year exhaled through his nose. A tall shadow arched over him.  
     “Whatever do you mean?” Akaashi asked. Excessively long legs stepped forward.  
    “I think you know what I mean,” Lev chuckled, elbowing him teasingly. Though Lev’s raised elbow was level with Akaashi’s neck, so it didn’t seem all that teasing.  
    “Shouldn’t you be commiserating with your team?”  
    “Kenma told me if he heard my voice in the next half hour he’d quit volleyball forever, so Yaku said I should probably head over here,”  
    “Well, you caught me in the act,” Akaashi smiled easily, grabbing Lev’s hand and giving it a vigorous shake. “Good game, Greg,”  
    “Oh, uh, it’s Lev…” Akaashi was already walking away. “D-do you remember? We – we were in Third Gym together, hey! Akaashi! Akaashi! Uh…”  
    Akaashi heard Lev’s squawking and his own team celebrating and saw Saru wrapping his arm around Konoha and Onaga. Yukie and Bokuto high fived each other and Bokuto beamed at Akaashi and told him he was the best setter in the world and Coach Takemi congratulated them all and Akaashi thought, yes. Today was a good day.  
   

* * *

   “I’m an idiot,” Bokuto growled. Akaashi remained as silent and disinterested as ever, quietly folding a net. Another rack of P.E equipment was kicked into the wall. If Akaashi didn’t know Bokuto as well as he did, he might feel a little nervous. The boy was brimming with rage. But he wouldn’t do much with that rage other than kick a few volleyballs around and maybe punch a wall. He watched the show with exasperation and quiet sympathy rather than worry. “I’m a stupid, temperamental idiot,”  
   “Pick that up, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi huffed. “You’re not an idiot. Idiots don’t use words like ‘temperamental’,”  
    (He was rather surprised Bokuto used it correctly in a sentence.)  
   “I only know what it means because Coach Takemi called me it,” Bokuto grunted.  
   “That makes the choice of vocabulary no less impressive,”  
   “I don’t even see the point of me being on the team anymore, Akashee. Our opponents must think I’m a joke. I’m so _fucking_ stupid. And I _HATE_ Sakusa! I hate his guts!”  
   This was all because Bokuto had choked a straight against Itachiyama. Rather humiliatingly, to be fair; his hand had glided straight past the ball and cut through air. Akaashi’s (entirely perfect) toss fell flat, the crowd silent and its bounce deafening. They had already secured a place at Nationals, but Akaashi could understand Bokuto’s shame. It was a bad moment, proof they were good enough to qualify but not quite good _enough_. All in front of Sakusa, too. Though Akaashi was unsure Bokuto was actually capable of hatred, he very much disliked the hypochondriac ace, mostly out of immature jealousy, but also because his age made Bokuto feel as though he wasn’t practicing hard enough. Following matches with Itachiyama, Bokuto’s hour long post-training training sessions could trickle on for three hours if Akaashi was feeling particularly weak willed.  
   “Stupid people don’t become nationally ranked aces, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi remarked. While he did occasionally think his Captain was rather stupid, that was in terms of common sense or algebra. Never when it came to volleyball. Never.  
   “Yeah, they do, Agaashii,” Bokuto pouted. “It’s not like it requires a ‘lotta thought. I’m some boneheaded jock. I hit a ball. And I can’t even do that right,”  
   “It’s a lot more than hitting a ball and you know that,”  
   “You’re right! It is! It’s cut shots and draw spiking and floaters and guess what? I can’t do any of that. Can’t even hit a straight right. I’m quitting the club, Agashi,”  
    “No, you’re not,” Akaashi raised an unimpressed brow.  
   “D-don’t try and stop me,”  
   “I won’t.”  
   “…It was so embarrassing,”  
   “It was. But worse has happened,”  
   “This is terrible. This is the worst day of my life.”  
   “No it isn’t.”  
   “Please leave me alone…Akaashi,” Lifting a calloused finger, Bokuto pointed to the door of the equipment closet with flair that would make an amateur dramatics instructor proud.  
   “Okay.” Akaashi turned to leave. The match was tiring and shameful for him too. He was certain Bokuto would be alright by tomorrow morning. He wanted a hot drink and his bed. Most of all he desperately craved boiled rapeseed, preferably with a little mustard on the side. He hoped his Mother would indulge him if he asked particularly nicely.  
   A hand brushed his shoulder blade, interrupting his leafy green thoughts, and he instinctively shrugged it off. Two golden eyes blinked owlishly in Akaashi’s peripheral vision.  
   “Serious? You really wouldn’t care if I left the team, Akaashi?” Something in Bokuto’s voice trembled when he said this, and Akaashi supressed an exasperated sigh at the shininess of his Captain’s stare. How juvenile. Over emotional displays like this needed to be discussed before Bokuto went to University. “Akaaaaashii….” Again Akaashi struggled not to massage his forehead at the insufferable way Bokuto sniffed out his name. Practically a grown man and he grew teary at another person’s inability to function as a personal cheerleader at all tim-  
   “Of course I would care if you left the team, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi found himself saying, face impassive but words breathless with annoyance. Or maybe something else.  
      Apparently Akaashi was a masochist.  
     This close to Bokuto – Akaashi was basically pinned between the puppy-dog-eyed Ace and the flat wood of the door – he could see every speck, every pink blemish on his skin. Pickaxe scars marred Bokuto’s right cheek and his nose was scrunched up in an unpleasant way. Akaashi willed himself not to let his gaze fall to his lips, or he might do something stupid. They held eye contact for an uncomfortably long amount of time.  
   “I feel so stupid, Akaashi.”  
   “I know. That's okay.” Sometimes, with Bokuto, it was better to just tell him his feelings were okay rather than refute them. Akaashi wondered what it would be like to have Bokuto’s mind, because it seemed so much different to his. Exhausting, maybe. “Do you want to go get some yakiniku tomorrow?”  
    Bokuto pouted and shrugged though the brightening of his demeanour was obvious.  
   “I…I mean…I’m still hurting inside a lot, but, uh, I guess, I could…”  
   “Don’t milk it.”  
   “Okay, okay! Let’s go after school, you know Taki’s place? Like down near the 100 yen shop? Their karubi is actually the best in all of Tokyo. No, all of Japan. In the entire world.”  
  “Alright.” Akaashi began making his way out of the equipment cupboard, Bokuto following him. They would have to clean up the mess he had made tomorrow.  
   “Have you had their karubi before? Seriously, if you have, you’ll know,”  
   “I’ve never eaten there before, Bokuto-san.”  
   “ _What? WHAT?”_ Bokuto bounced on the balls of his feet frantically, but his voice was still thick from his tearful outburst. What a ridiculous, frustrating, overemotional enigma.  
    From an impartial perspective, Bokuto was puffy and red and tearstained and had been acting in a pathetically childish manner. And Akaashi was fighting the urge to swipe fallen strands of hair from his forehead and kiss his cheeks and tell him he did not deserve to feel so much shame so often considering he was the kindest, sweetest person in existence.  
    Right. Well.  
    With a resigned sigh, Akaashi realised this probably went beyond basic physical attraction now, and he winced every time Bokuto stumbled off the sidewalk on the way home.

* * *

 

Lately, Akaashi’s list of Bokuto’s weaknesses was becoming redundant, because his new list drowned the old one out. If Akaashi’s first list said: ‘ _Bokuto is loud to the point he seems socially inept and draws negative attention to himself’,_ the second would say _‘Bokuto is enthusiastic to the point he cannot regulate his volume.’_ If the first list said: ‘ _Bokuto’s entire self-worth seemingly relies on the praise of other’s’,_ the second would say ‘ _Values his teammates and their opinions a great deal.’_ If the first list said: ‘ _Trains to the point of worrying obsessiveness’,_ the second would say ‘ _Arms.’  
   _ The second list was far less concrete than the first. Akaashi’s mental accumulation of all Bokuto’s weaknesses was solid, something he recalled during heated matches and put into play. The latter popped up whenever Akaashi found himself growing exasperated with Bokuto, despite his best attempts to will it from existence. It messed with his brain.  
    On the way back from the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, Akaashi found new material for both lists.  
_Weakness No. 143: Snores loudly.  
    ??? No. 62: Looks very peaceful while sleeping.  
   _ Cataloguing 151 of Bokuto’s weaknesses had taken nearly two years, and 62 of his good points had taken just two months. Akaashi gulped, and checked the time on his phone. _18:42._ He rested his head against the vibrating window of the coach, lethargy washing over him much like the buttery, late evening sun. Komi and Konoha chatted noisily in front of them and Bokuto continued snoring, but the window was pleasantly warm and sleep found Akaashi quickly. Then somebody was poking him.  
    “’Kaashi. Agaaaaashi. ‘Kaashi wake up, you’re drooling,”  
    “I’m not,” Akaashi bolted upright and wiped drool from him cheek. Cold blue streetlights glowed outside, and Akaashi could only just about make out the silhouette of Bokuto next to him. “What time is it?”  
    “Nearly 12,” Bokuto shrugged. He was very close to Akaashi. “Tokyo traffic.”  
    “Tokyo traffic, indeed,”  
    “Mhm.”  
    “Bokuto-san,” Akaashi grunted. “Why did you wake me?” Fiddling with his seatbelt and revealing a pink stripe where it had been cutting into his neck, Bokuto lolled his head back and quirked his brows in confusion. Monochrome strands of hair splayed across his forehead messily; headlights from the traffic outside turned the white parts silver. Through the gaps in the chairs, Akaashi could see Konoha and Komi slumbering soundly; behind Akaashi, Washio was curled up against an armrest, breathing deeply. The only noise other than the calming hum of the engine was Yukie’s snoring. Bokuto had nothing on her.  
    “What? C’mon, Akaashi. Why wouldn’t I wake you up? I want some quality bonding time with my buddy.”  
    “At 12am.”  
    “At 12am.” Bokuto started shaking his head. “I never get it anyway. Why do we go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning? Why do we even have to sleep? Why don’t we eat breakfast at 8pm, what’s that about? What about tamago is inherently like a morning thing?”  
    “Bokuto-san.”  
    “Fine, I wanted to ask you a question.” So Akaashi waited patiently for the question, hands folded together. Bokuto’s leg bounced up and down wildly – he seemed brimming with tense energy. Akaashi found himself leaning forward, suspicious.  
    “What is it, Bokuto-san?”  
    “I don’t know if…”  
     “Bokuto-san.”  
    Something hovered between them.  
    “Do you _really_ think I should accept the offer from Nippon rather than Chuo?” Bokuto cried, slamming a fist down on his armrest. Akaashi blinked. Then he scanned the coach to make sure Bokuto hadn’t woken anyone. Other than Akaashi of course.  
    “Bokuto-san, you’ve already discussed this with me, your parents, the guidance counsellor, Kuroo, Yukie, Konoha, Coach Takemi, the lady that works at the post office near the Sunroute we stayed at, Oikawa Tooru, and the referee for the semi-finals. You’re accepting the Nippon scholarship because they offer the Social Working BA that you want, with the chance to minor in Sports Management, while still having the same athletic prestige as Chuo.”  
    “Okay, that’s not what I wanted to ask. I was gonna ask if you wanted to date me, but I got nervous. I know I want to go to Nippon, because Masahiro Yanagida graduated from there. Plus the dorms were so cool, like they had the cool circle windows and shit right above the beds. I showed you a photo of the circle windows right?”  
    “You did. They were quite cool,” Akaashi agreed. Then he said, “Oh.”  
    “That wasn’t very romantic,”  
    “It wasn’t.” Akaashi agreed, again. Bokuto leaned forward and shoved his head through the gaps in the chairs ahead of them, as if to check Konoha and Komi were really asleep and not spying on them.  
    “Look, Akaashi, uhm…I don't want this to make things weird between us, so if you say no, just act like none of this ever happened. I think you’re beautiful and great and uh…I would like to date you. And I know that you’re way out of my league, and you probably only date people that like, discuss art or some shit, but I’m thinking, hey. I’m leaving soon. Might as well give it a shot. I mean, I’ve liked you for like. Ever. Okay not forever but. Forever,” Bokuto nodded earnestly. “Seriously, though, you’re gorgeous and smart and you like weird leafy salads. I’m lucky I’m so awesome otherwise you’d never hang around with a weird looking guy like me,”  
   “That’s not true.”  
   “Admit it, Akaashi. I am pretty awesome. I understand why you’re gonna reject me, I’d feel intimidated too.”  
   “I meant the weird looking part, Bokuto-san. I think you’re very handsome.”  
     There was a long pause where Bokuto just pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in confusion. Then his lips spent several seconds forming soundless words. Crimson flooded the Captain’s cheeks and Akaashi noticed his freckles beneath the pink tinge. They had become more prominent in the summer sun.  
    “What does that mean? Is that just...to be nice? Are you saying you’ll go out with me? Because I didn’t practice this part with Kuroo,”  
   “You practiced this with Kuroo?” Akaashi snorted, gaze flickering from Bokuto’s cheeks to his eyes. They were bulging in shock. This was very odd and also pleasant. "Yes, I suppose I’ll date you, Bokuto-san. I think we are already dating a little bit.”  
    “You know what? That’s exactly what Kenma said. Alright. Alright alright alright. Akaashi, you're really the best. We’re gonna be like…a power couple, now. You know, you're hot, I'm super hot, apparently. You're probably gonna get a Nobel Prize, I'll be the greatest ace in the history of volleyball, it's gonna be awesome.”  
   “A power couple,” sighed Akaashi, exasperated yet awed. Also trying to stifle laughter. Was this truly happening? They were both silent for a short time. It was a good silence. Its awkwardness implied a shared secret.  
   “Do you really think I’m handsome?” Bokuto chuckled, softly.  That was a first. Bokuto Koutarou doing something ‘softly'. Akaashi slipped his arm around Bokuto’s and leaned against him.  
   “I do, Bokuto-san. I think you have nice eyes.”  
   “Oh, right, well,” He paused, and suddenly became very interested in his cuticles, then the ceiling, then the floor. “Can I kiss you now?”  
   “I hope you didn’t practice that bit with Kuroo.”  
   “Nope. No. Ew. 'Kaashi, I t-”  
    Akaashi pressed his lips to Bokuto’s. They were chapped and dry and their teeth clanked together. Akaashi felt Bokuto smile against him and wondered if his realisation all those months ago had truly been that terrible.

**Author's Note:**

> bokuto did practice that bit with kuroo back in first year. they don't talk about it.  
> went back and edited this a day after posting to fix some basic typos and also. the stuff I rushed at 12am while dying of tonsillitis. The antibiotics are working now though I'm still awake at 1:09am on a school night. quite proud of the fic now. characterising akaashi is hard for me but I feel I did a decent job. can't believe I wrote 8000 words on bokuto's hotness but relatable amirite.
> 
> one thing to add: people who make the akaashi - kenma dynamic two quiet introverts basking in their shared intellectual introvertedness......have u ever read the manga they're about as passive aggressive as Karen and Margaret at the local neighbourhood bake sale. love it. love bokuroo too damn it i love them all
> 
> My Tumblr: https://heyheyheyyyyyyyyyyyyy.tumblr.com/  
> talk to me about bokuaka  
> comments and kudos SUPER appreciated


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